


Ketchup to You

by snidgetsafan



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff, Meet-Cute, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 22:42:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18040487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snidgetsafan/pseuds/snidgetsafan
Summary: Emma is on a terrible date, but a ketchup-related incident will prove to save her night – and give her so much more.It wasn't exactly love at first sauce, but it was pretty close, though.





	Ketchup to You

**Author's Note:**

> A while ago, Devon shared a story that happened during a date between her parents - namely that her father accidentally doused the table behind him with ketchup, much to her mother's amusement. I loved this anecdote so much, that I decided to use it for her birthday gift. Happy birthday, honey!

“And you see, that’s why I think bounty hunting shouldn’t be legal. It’s way too dangerous, especially for women. It should be left to professionals, people who are qualified for catching criminals.”

_ Strike 1 _ . Emma grinds her teeth as she smiles tightly while her date, Walsh, continues to lecture her about her own job. The guy doesn’t even understand that “bounty hunting” and “bailsbond work” are completely different things, but he is an  _ expert _ . They’re waiting for their meals, have been at  _ Granny’s _ for a mere half an hour, and Emma already wants to bolt. 

Seriously, what had Mary Margaret been thinking, setting her up with this guy? She has barely spoken two sentences in the last ten minutes, her date more interested in the sound of his own voice than anything else. 

Ruby bringing their meals provides very short relief, the two women sharing a look as Walsh stops talking about the auction he went to the other day to ask for a refill on his glass of water. Emma can’t help but notice that he’s taken one of the cheapest dishes on the menu, and no soda. She had also noticed his little moue of displeasure when she had taken her usual grilled cheese and onion rings. She pointedly didn’t look at him when she’d ordered her Coke.

Before her friend leaves, Emma asks for ketchup; if she’s going to have to endure Walsh for the next hour, then she needs ketchup.

“And please hurry, we’d like them before our plates get cold.” 

Emma and Ruby freeze, first looking at each other, then at Walsh’s salad. Emma’s date seems oblivious, busy as he is tapping on his phone. 

Ruby purses her lips, walking away in annoyed silence, making Emma wince.  _ Ruby’s pissed _ . She’s tempted to get her own phone out and text Mary Margaret to ask her what she had done to deserve such a punishment as a date with Walsh Ozman, but she’s afraid her sister-in-law will either worry and call Emma, or that she’ll text the idiot across from her. 

The table behind her erupts in laughter.  _ At least someone’s having fun, _ she thinks sullenly.

Two simultaneous plonks bring Emma back to reality, Ruby having briskly put down the new glass of water and the bottle of ketchup on the table before leaving without a word. 

“The service here is terrible,” Walsh huffs as Emma grabs the ketchup and uncaps it. “I don’t know why you wanted to come here.”

“I’ve been coming here for years,” Emma answers sharply, shaking the bottle over her plate, waiting for condiment to fall, “and the service has always been more than adequate.” 

Nothing is coming out of the bottle. 

“Well, I guess your standards are pretty low then.”

_ Strike 2 _ . Emma bites back the retort that they aren’t low enough to consider  _ him  _ adequate, choosing instead to channel her rising annoyance into shaking the ketchup bottle vigorously. She’s pretty sure this is the “special bottle” Ruby reserves for annoying customers – the one with ketchup thick enough to stay at the bottom of the bottle – and that she’s given it to her to express her disapproval in dating partners.  _ Which she didn’t choose _ , she wants to shout to her friend. 

A particularly energetic shake of the bottle finally has an effect, but not the one she’s expecting. A shouted “bloody hell” from behind her, and the scrape of a chair being pushed back make her freeze before slowly turning around, dread in her stomach at what she’s about to see.

The view that greets her makes her eyes widen before her face heats up in embarrassment. The man who is sitting behind her is wiping off his nape, which is covered in ketchup. The condiment is also dripping all along the back of his leather jacket, leaving a growing streak of red on black.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry,” Emma gasps, looking down at the bottle in her hand to understand what happened.  _ She forgot to put the cap back on _ , she realizes with horror, before hurriedly putting it on the table, as if that will absolve her of her idiocy. Completely forgetting about her date, she turns fully towards the other man, blindly grabbing for her napkin to help clean the worst of the damage. It’s as she’s trying to wipe off the condiment before it permanently stains the leather that her victim turns around.

_ Oh _ , Emma thinks as she looks at the bluest eyes she’s ever seen. The rest of the face is nothing to sneeze at either; expressive black eyebrows, scruff that she wouldn’t mind feeling against her skin, and a smile that is slowly stretching luscious lips, causing a dimple to form on his cheek as he looks at her.

Emma blinks, the rest of the world coming back into focus.  _ Hot damn is this man handsome. _

“That’s bad form, lass, attacking a man from behind,” he tells her, smiling teasingly.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t notice the bottle was already open,” Emma apologizes once again, dropping her eyes to his jacket to continue cleaning it. “I’ve taken off the most of it, but you should clean it with soapy water as soon as possible,” she says, looking up once more.

The man is not looking at his jacket, however; he doesn’t seem concerned about it, preferring to continue looking at her. He’s still smiling, which surprises Emma; if she were the one to have been sprayed with ketchup, she’d be quite annoyed, and would make that annoyance known.

“Don’t worry about it,” he tells her, “but I think that now you owe me, don’t you think?” the man asks, his smile turning into a smirk as he raises his eyebrows.

Wait, what?

“That’s what the sorry was for,” Emma retorts. Of course it was too good to be true, he had to be a jackass. If he asks for a kiss, Emma promises herself, she’ll dump the rest of the bottle on his head.

“Aye, but I think that as the offended party, I have the right to know my attacker’s name,” he tells her, his eyes twinkling. “I’m Killian, by the way,” he introduces himself, stretching a hand out for her to shake.

“Her name’s Emma, and she’s taken, now go away,” comes from behind her before she has a chance to shake Killian’s hand. 

_ Walsh _ . Dammit, she had forgotten about him.

“What’s wrong with you?” Emma asks, turning towards her  _ date _ . Who does he think he is, being so rude? And did he really dare doing what she think he did, claiming her like you claim a seat at the theater? When they hadn’t even gone on one full date (not that they would go on a second one)?

“What’s  _ wrong with me _ is that my date is ogling another man instead of paying attention to me,” Walsh says, his eyes flashing, “so I’d like you to turn back, eat your meal and pay attention to me.”

And then he snaps his fingers.

_ Strike 3 _ .

Emma doesn’t even feel angry, even as she hears the table behind her collectively gasp, Walsh’s loud tone having carried over to them. Instead, she feels a great calmness come over her. 

She looks at Walsh, and in a very composed tone, tells him, “Ok, I’m done.”

“I… what?” the man sputters, clearly not expecting her to answer that.

“Since the beginning of the evening, you have been nothing but a rude, conceited asshole, so enamored with the sound of your own voice that you didn’t even take the time to understand what my job actually was. The only reason I’ve endured your presence is out of courtesy for Mary Margaret, but now you’ve crossed the line. I’m done with you,” she concludes, fixing Walsh with a cold stare as he gapes at her.

His astonishment doesn’t last long, as he closes his mouth before angrily standing up, his chair falling down with a loud  _ clang _ . “No,  _ I’m _ done with  _ you _ ,” and with those parting words, Walsh storms off dramatically, the bell over the door jingling loudly in the dead silence that has fallen over the diner.  _ Good riddance _ .

“Are you all right, love?” comes from behind her. 

Turning her head, she sees Killian and the other two occupants of the table, a woman and a man, standing up, seemingly ready to come to her help. 

“I – yes, thank you, I’m fine,” she says, smiling uncomfortably, ill at ease with all the stares she can feel on her.

“That one sounded like a catch, lass,” the man behind Killian pipes up, earning himself a slap on the arm from his companion, along with a furiously whispered “Liam!”

Killian rolls his eyes, much to Emma’s amusement. 

“Well, I guess that means the end of the night for me,” she says, seeing Ruby approach, a scowl on her face, from the corner of her eye

“And that tosser left you with the bill, too,” Killian mutters, frowning.

“Where did you find that loser?” Ruby asks bluntly, her eyes focused on Emma and her hands on her hips.

“I didn’t, Mary Margaret did,” Emma answers with her own roll of the eyes, grabbing her jacket. “You can be sure it’s the last time she guilts me into accepting one of her set ups, though,” she concludes, ready to go, with a longing glance towards her plate as she searches her pockets for her wallet. She wants that grilled cheese, dammit. She  _ deserves  _ it, after the last half hour.

“Oh no, please let me, you shouldn’t pay for that arse’s meal,” Killian interjects, trying to stop her.

“Don’t worry about it, Blue Eyes, it’s on the house,” Ruby tells him.

“That’s very nice of you, but I can’t let the owner take it out of your pay, lass.”

Ruby snorts at that, throwing a look Emma’s way, one that’s both amused and speculative. She’s not sure she likes that look. “The owner’s my grandmother, I’m an associate, my salary’s safe, but thanks for worrying about it.”

“It would be bad form to let you assume that idiot’s stinginess,” Killian insists.

Emma looks at Killian. He seems genuine; she always knows when people lie to her, but she doesn’t see any deception coming from him. He is just sincerely… nice.

“Well, it would be bad form to let that delicious grilled cheese go to waste,” the other man says, having come nearer. “Why don’t you come eat your meal with us, lass? I’d love to hear more about what job you do that actually enables you to throw ketchup on unsuspecting victims so effectively,” he concludes, gesturing towards the empty seat at their table.

His offer is nice, and would allow her to eat her onion rings, but she doesn’t know these people. “I wouldn’t want to impose,” Emma says, taking a small step back.

“You wouldn’t be, we’re inviting you. I’m Liam, by the way, and this is my wife Elsa. And this, here, is my little brother Killian,” the tall man says, tapping his brother on the shoulder and ignoring his muttered “younger” with what seems like honed practice. Now that they’re close together, she can see the likeness between the two men; Liam is taller, and has light brown hair where his brother’s is dark, but they share the same eyes and they have the same smile.

Before Emma has a chance to respond, Ruby takes the decision out of her hands, taking her plate and glass and putting them on the other table with a definitive  _ thud _ . She’s about to say something, but she makes the mistake of looking at Killian at that moment. If the hopeful look on his face isn’t enough to make her cave, him scratching nervously behind his ear finishes to convince her. After all, what does she have to lose? They can’t be worse than Walsh, they seem quite nice; and even if Liam’s wife hasn’t said a single word to her yet, it appears to be more out of shyness than anything else, her encouraging smile as she removes her bag from what is becoming Emma’s chair showing her agreement with her husband. 

_ What the hell, _ Emma thinks, internally shrugging.

“Well, if you’re sure…” she hedges.

It’s Killian who answers. “We are,” he tells her softly, “it would be our pleasure.”

Emma smiles at him, and the smile doesn’t leave her face all evening as she gets to know Killian and his family. She learns that Liam teases his brother mercilessly, but loves him fiercely. She learns that Elsa is probably one of the kindest people she’s ever met, but that she can match her husband’s wit barb for barb. 

As for Killian? She learns that he’s funny, a gentleman, that he’s a retired Royal Navy officer who’s started in Boston PD a month ago, and that this meal was to celebrate him finally finding a flat and “getting out of his brother’s hair.”

She also learns that she  _ likes _ him, and would like to get to know him better, preferably without his family and Ruby watching them like hawks. So when he offers to walk her to her car at the end of the evening, she gladly accepts, and is actually the one to ask for his number as they reach her yellow bug.

Both of them lean towards the other, however, and just before their lips meet in one of the softest kisses of Emma’s life, she can’t help but think that maybe, in a roundabout way, she should thank Mary Margaret for this evening.  _ Nah _ , she thinks, as she tangles her hands in Killian’s soft hair.

She does end up never allowing Mary Margaret to set her up on another date, but it has nothing to do with her terrible taste in potential partners for Emma. It has more to do with the fact that Emma starts dating Killian, and doesn’t stop, until dating turns into a solid relationship, which turns into cohabitation, which then turns into talking about marriage and children.

Although Emma will never let Killian live down the fact he thought that putting the engagement ring at the bottom of a ketchup bottle would be a romantic way to propose.

_ Okay, maybe it is _ , she thinks as she watches her dork of a boyfriend down on one knee in the middle of Granny’s, his fingers sticky with hastily wiped off sauce and a huge smile on his face.  _ Maybe it is _ .


End file.
